I feel nothing as nothing has ever felt and feels,
Nothing as in what lies between the land and the sky,
Not a flicker of flickering flaming light,
Nor wanting care, pass these rolled eyes that do stare,
Upward, and always marble black.
Empty as a cup that is all but sipped and supped
Mouthed and mauled passed china ring stained lips,
Chipped the edges of feeling,
Slipping fingers passed thumbs of lactic grips,
That handle, and burns my knuckles path.
Hunger in a room of endless forever spoons,
Silver shine clatter the line and reflections,
Reflections bend my curious leaning nose,
Background curled into my worries of two’s,
And fro my cares of communication means.
I want to feel something; I want to feel anything,
Wake me up, slap my face, tear my hair out-of-place.
Anything apart from this nothing I feel now,
This void of thought, my cemented scowl,
A face so solemn and words so foul.
But here I sit, my clown paint has ran,
Sprinted away, left is all but this shadow of what was once a man.
I am all glue and pot from tip to weighted toe,
My eyes hang out of my dead skull,
As my years pass and go.
Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.